Dabbling Drabbles
by Addie Riddle
Summary: Predictable title. This is mainly a bunch of drabbles covering an assortment of pairings, slash and straight. I will do any pairing you leave me, and I will review all who review me. Enjoy.
1. Seamus and Harry

A/N: Yes, I have begun to write slash. I suppose I should warn you that there is slash, and if you don't like that, fine. I personally think these drabbles are well written, with only minor problems, those being cliche storylines. 

As always, I will review anyone and all those who review me. So send them my way.

And, as I hinted at in the summary, this is a series of drabbles, five each chapter, a different pairing each chapter. Not to say I won't ever revisit a pairing later. Now, the deal is if you leave me a review with a pairing of your choice, I will write for it, and mention you in the author's notes. A bit of fame, who could resist. The only limitations are it cannot conflict with a pairing already done, unless it takes place at an earlier time. Understand? And each review cannot be just a pairing. I'd appreciate a constructive word or two. Otherwise I can't get better.

Now, I think that's all clear. And, yes, I will resume writing "That Damn Red Frizz", when my writer's block leaves me.

The first pairing up, is Seamus/Harry.

Special thanks to the real Riddle. Not the actual Tom Riddle, but my beta, and other half, Riddle. So thank you dear.

***

Seamus hated his hair. Hated how it laid there, a gray-blonde mass of no use. He hated his freckles along his nose, hated how his pale Irish skin would flame red with the slightest hint of sun. He loathed his knobby knees, his pointy ankles, and his elbows so sharp they could take an eye out. He cursed his dimpled chin, and the birthmark on his right middle finger. He hated the shape of his face, arms, the shape of his whole being, in such a way that he was apt to avoid his reflection for days on end. Seamus would lay awake most nights, eyes squeezed shut, wishing more than anything he were someone else. Each morning he'd awake disappointed.

But afterwards, when Harry commented on how sweet his lips were, he had to admit he had found something to love.

***

He'd slip away on those nights, muttering a farewell to Ron and Hermione. Hardly caring what they said, Harry's feet would carry him through the crowded room and silently up the stone stairs. Below, the chatter of the students, the laughter and the cries, would melt away, peeling from Harry with each step. His worries, his titles, would evaporate long before he'd reach the final landing. Holding his breath, he'd wait, invisible in the shadows, eye closed, bargaining no sound for a few sweet moments of non-existance.

Hot breath on his face would snap his eyes wide open.

There, in the shadows of the highest point, they would kiss. Silence would deafen them, as they dared not to touch, lest reality invade their carefully blocked minds. Mouths moving, tounges fighting - ending quicker than it began. A smile here, a word shared there, and they were through before they had begun, forming a precise departure, fear ruling their hearts.

And then, Harry would watch as the sandy-colored hair would disappear from view.

***

When he was still a lad, long before the years of Hogwarts, his mother wouldn't dare let him out of her sight. Watching his mother as she minced and mixed, Seamus would stare up from the floor where he was set down to play, the woman's prized antique figures spread before him. His favorite, a short plump woman with rosy cheeks standing beside a tall thin man in an emerald cloak, would cry out sentiments when prompted to.

Late at night he'd lie, thoughts swarming around the figure, unable to rid his young mind of its more frequent message.

"Love is never wrong!" It's cry out to Seamus. Looking at the couple, he figured it must be true; such opposites could never be so loving otherwise. Head filled with love, he'd drift off to sleep, a smile upon his face.

Years later, as his family scorned, Seamus smashed the figure and hid it where no one could see.

***

Neville wasn't sure if they thought he couldn't hear them, or if they just pretended he couldn't, but those nights he'd lay awake, hardly daring to breathe for fear of alerting them. The moon would be shining through the window next to his bed, having reached its zenith, when the whimpers of Harry's nightmares would begin. Ron, snoring loudly and deeply, would never hear the nightmares unless they turned into screams, something excluded to a weekly occurance. Dean was a notoriously sound sleeper, waking only when Seamus would pour a pitcher of water on him. But Neville would always spring awake, so fluidly it was impossible to tell if he had ever been asleep to begin with.

Laying in his bed, silently, he would listen as the drapes would pull back from the bed beside him, feet creeping across the dorm with a gentle patting sound. He would hear the whispers of comfort Seamus would breathe, hear Harry struggle out of his dreams, hear the creaking of the bed as they'd embrace. Their hurried words would echo in the silent room, blending with the snores of Ron and the tossing of Dean.

The night Neville first heard the ever so slight sound of their kisses, he snuck over to the bed where they laid, peeking through the hangings. Seeing Harry and Seamus laying there, fitting together as if they were two pieces of a puzzle, as if they were meant to fit so smoothly together, he felt the calm of relief, and made his way back to his own pillow. He wasn't sure what he expected, but was content to find it wasn't there.

It took only a few nights of this before their sounds became backround music, soothing and calmingly routine, and Neville found himself anxious for those nights to come.

***

The blank parchment laid before him, taunting blank space screaming out. Books were stacked haphazardly about, hiding him from view, opened and willing to fill his mind. As his eyes blurred with weariness, letters began to jump out to him, melting together until all he could see were ink spots. Echoing sounds of quills meeting parchment flooded his ears, deafening him. Tearing his eyes from the writing before him, he glanced around at the hunched forms scattered about the library.

"Harry, you're not even trying!"

If only she knew.

" . . . failing marks! Hand me . . ."

Hermione's voice faded in and out as Harry slowly scanned the library. His eyes locked as he spotted the young Irish boy, his back arched over a textbook, lips parted slightly as he read to himself.

" . . . never move on!"

Shaking himself, Harry softly smiled at Hermione.

"I know, Hermione," he glanced back to the patch of sandy hair, "I know."


	2. Ginny and Hermione

A/N: To start off . . . MORE SLASH! That's right, you read me, another slash pairing. If you don't like it, head on out. Otherwise, you are welcome, and even encouraged to stay. I hope you enjoy your time here at Chez La Addie.

Once I again, I'm quite proud of these, but I know I could certainly use some work in all my writing. So constructive comments are cherished, and I would be ever grateful if you happened to send me one. Just something to think on. As always, I review anyone who reviews me. 

As I hinted at in the summary, this is a series of drabbles, five each chapter, a different pairing each chapter. Not to say I won't ever revisit a pairing later. Now, the deal is if you leave me a review with a pairing of your choice, I will write for it, and mention you in the author's notes. A bit of fame, who could resist. The only limitations are it cannot conflict with a pairing already done, unless it takes place at an earlier time. Understand? And each review cannot be just a pairing. I'd appreciate a constructive word or two.

This time around the drabbles focus on Hermione/Ginny. Remember, I won't always do slash if you ask. Next up is Remus/Sirius, and afterwards, Ginny/Tom Riddle from the time of CoS. I need more pairings, so keep them coming.

Special thanks to: Riddle, the real one, for beta-ing for me. Without her I could not have written half as well. And also thanks to her for inspiration. You know what I mean, love. Also thanks to Lelattha for the greatly helpful review she left, which I loved to death, and for suggesting Remus/Sirius and Ginny/Tom Riddle. Thank you both, immensely.

On with the drabbles.

***

Each night, as she closed her eyes and laid underneath the red and gold masses, a head of flames fanned out beneath her, she could feel that which she dared not dream of in the waking world. Soft fabric would slide past her legs, the owner sliding with it. Gentle touches swept along her arms, over her legs, through her hair. She could feel the kisses brushing her lips as vividly as life's truth. Hands massaged her shoulders, hitting all the right spots.

A phantom girl, well known to the dreamer, loving her in a way life sadistically held taboo. In the dreams, brown mixed with red, pale skin combined with freckled, until they were one. She slept, breath uneven, hardly able to distinguish one from the other.

The sun would rise, eyes would flutter open. Around her, morning sounds would begin, as her dorm mates struggled out of bed, and shuffled around. She would lay still, hardly daring to breathe, unable to let go. Clawing desperately at the remaining strips of night, she would still her mind, as dreams slipped through her clutches without fail. Gradually, as light flooded the room, she'd forget, and join her dorm mates.

Forget, until the brown of her dreams, the pale skin of the night, would greet her hello at breakfast.

***

Fire haunted her. Nights she'd shoot up, gasping for air, covered in a cold sweat, trapped in blankets. She'd cry out from the dream world as flames surrounded her, trapping her. Buildings would crumble, friends would burn, and she would be left to witness it all. Escape eluded her.

Mornings would leave her as haunted as the nights. A crowded corridor, masses of black robes, varieties of hair, towering figures, and a mesh of flames. A head of fire, flowing flames, burned its image into her eyes. Jumping at her, swarming to her, until pain seared her arms, her face, her heart.

She was haunted and chased, plagued and followed.

And loving each moment.

***

When they kissed, that first cold night in February, Hermione could still taste the chocolate that lined Ginny's lips, chocolate they had snuck into the dorm to whisper and laugh and cry over.

It shocked her, that first kiss. How someone so full of life and ginger could taste so sweet and cold. She swore she could feel each freckle that dotted the lips of the younger girl, swore she could hear her heart echoing in the otherwise lonesome dorm.

She was surprised, at first, that the redhead, with her fiery personality, physical strength, and ability to scare all of her six brothers with a glare, was so soft under her touch. The kiss was gentle and caring, nothing at all like Hermione had imagined, yet better than she ever could have hoped.

Behind her closed eyes she could see colors flashing urgently, the golden red of Ginny's hair the most prominent of all. She could smell the spice that was her heart's desire, could feel the soft skin and lips, hear the beating of her heart, and see the red glow.

And even after they pulled apart and Ginny quietly asked her to leave, Hermione could still taste the chocolate lingering in her mouth.

***

Not so unlike the times before, she never knew what she had until it was gone.

Her mum would always warn her, those times she complained about six older brothers, warn her about taking those she loved for granted. She'd pout and sob, telling without mercy how Bill and Charlie didn't want her, Percy's pompous attitude made it impossible to get along, the twins endless jokes were becoming cruel, and how Ron's teasing and pushing was becoming too much. Without fail her mother would speak of family and love. She never cared to listen, wishing instead her mother would understand.

" . . . listening? Ginny, love, one of these days you're going to lose something dear to you, because you never saw it was there. Regret is a poison, and it'll eat you hollow."

Watching Hermione leave the dorm, Ginny knew her mother's words rang of truth.

***

Ginny would dream, all those years ago, when childhood was still fresh. Closing her eyes, she'd drift off to sleep, the sharp reality of six brothers fading away. As the thick blanket would cover her, both in body and mind, her knight in shining armor would ride up to meet her.

In her dreams, Ginny's white knight would race to her, drop from his noble steed, profess his love, and woo her in the courtliest of fashions. When awake, she would convince herself of the reality of her savior, sure he would arrive any day to whisk her into a life she yearned for.

The knight, with his armor, gallant horse, daring deeds, and infinite love, was as real as any waking moment.

Never did she dream the knight would have bushy brown hair.


End file.
